


Making a Memory

by dreaminghigher (regencyaus)



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: A little angst, Amnesia, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Slow Burn, The Vow (2012) - Freeform, arthur is a little slow, eames is just Trying His Best, ik man don't judge me, medically inacurate portrayal of amnesia, not that much, you can still read this if you haven't watched the movie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-01
Updated: 2017-06-01
Packaged: 2018-11-07 14:24:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11060853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/regencyaus/pseuds/dreaminghigher
Summary: When Arthur wakes up, the first thing he notices is the blinding headache. He raises a hand and finds the bandage on the side of head, where he’s stitched up. God, that must have been rough. He blinks for a second and the next thing he notices, perhaps a second too late, is that he's not alone in the hospital room. There's a guy in the visitor's chair, nodding off with his neck bent at an awkward angle. Arthur winces in sympathy.The guy is pretty handsome, even in his nurse's clothes, but there's something about him (besides the complete lack of professionalism) that makes Arthur bet he doesn't really work here.Or: that fandom mandatory amnesia ficOr: The Vow au that no one asked for and yet...





	Making a Memory

**Author's Note:**

> I got help by amazing betas [bokvshi](http://bokvshi.tumblr.com/) and [its-veinsoffire-stuff](https://its-veinsoffire-stuff.tumblr.com/) that were angels in my life. its-veinsoffire-stuff had the whole thing betaed in, like, one day, it was super encouraging. Any remaining mistakes are my own (:
> 
> I should add a disclaimer to say that this is so medically inaccurate it hurts lol  
> It's just meant as a fun story (:
> 
> Inspired by the 2012 movie The Vow.
> 
> "Juliane, by the vow au did u mean, like, _the vow_ au?" Well, you can go to the end notes for spoilers but this isn't super angsty, I can tell you that.

When Arthur wakes up, the first thing he notices is the blinding headache. He raises a hand and finds the bandage on the side of head, where he’s stitched up. God, that must have been rough. He blinks for a second and the next thing he notices, perhaps a second too late, is that he's not alone in the hospital room. There's a guy in the visitor's chair, nodding off with his neck bent at an awkward angle. Arthur winces in sympathy. 

The guy is pretty handsome, even in his nurse's clothes, but there's something about him (besides the complete lack of professionalism) that makes Arthur bet he doesn't really work here. 

Arthur feels his instincts unsettled, feels something telling him this could be a set up. But, really, who would bother tricking him? A financial accountant, average paycheck, a rented apartment in LA. Nothing about him would make it worth the trouble. Apparently hitting his head made Arthur slightly paranoid. 

He tries to sit and the guy wakes up, looking confused for a moment before turning to Arthur. 

"Hey." He gives him a beautiful smile and Arthur's heart skips a beat. Yeah, he's gorgeous. A thousand things cross Arthur's mind, a thousand questions at the tip of his tongue. 

"You're not a real nurse." Is what he says instead. Wow, really smooth Arthur. The guy just smiles. 

"What, this?" He gestures to himself. "I stole from a storage closet somewhere around. They kept trying to restrict me to something called visiting hours, can you believe their nerve? I had to find my ways. Do I look hot?" 

Yes, Arthur thinks, a little ludicrously, though he also looks insane. He sounds insane. Arthur ignores both for a second. 

"You stole it. From a storage closet somewhere around." It's not any better when Arthur says it either. Jesus. "Should you even be telling me this?" 

"You won't tell on me." The guy says confidently, with a grin. What the hell. "How are you feeling?" 

"Uh... okay, I think." 

"God, Arthur, you scared the shit out of me. I think I passed out from pure exhaustion, I hadn't slept for the past three days."  He smiles. "Do you need anything? I'm not a real nurse but I'm pretty sure I can find my way around." But Arthur isn't listening. 

"How do you know my name?" 

The guy freezes. 

"I- what?" 

"Who are you?" 

He flinches back as if _slapped_. 

"You don't- you don't know?" 

His voice fails in the last word. Arthur feels a confused sort of guilt settling in. He shakes his head. "Should I?" 

The guy's completely lost, staring at Arthur like someone pulled the ground from beneath his feet and he doesn't know what to do anymore. 

"I- I mean, I'll- I'll get you a doctor, or a real nurse, I'll be right back." 

He stumbles a bit on his way out, but soon he's gone. 

 

The doctor asks a lot of questions, and then runs a lot of tests, and then asks a lot of other questions. The guy is there too, on jeans and an awful shirt this time, though no one seems inclined to kick him out. 

After a few hours Arthur's able to pick up some things. He lost about seven years of memory, from what they can tell. They're in London, which is apparently where he lives these days. They mention friends he doesn't remember meeting and hobbies he doesn't remember having and it's all too much. He remembers being twenty-two, working as an accountant in a firm in Los Angeles. The guy doesn't say much about that, but it's clear that's not what he's supposed to be doing these days, either.  

The doctor is very reassuring, talking about something called post-traumatic amnesia, that is generally due to a head injury. It's usually temporary, she reassures them, and he's physically fine otherwise and should be making a swift recovery. She says a lot of other things, in that same calming voice, and Arthur doesn't pay attention to any of it because _he lost about seven years of memory, from what they can tell_. He feels dizzy. 

When he's finally alone with the guy again he looks completely unsure of himself, hovering by Arthur's bed and not meeting his eyes. 

"They want to keep you for a few days, but you should be ready to leave soon. They don't have much reason to keep you here for longer. Your physical health is okay." He shrugs. "They'll be referring you to a therapist though, if you want. It could help with the memories and your adaptation. We should also show you things, like photographs, and see if triggers anything." 

"Sure." Arthur says, yawning. He just wants this day to be over, wants the world to make sense again. 

The guy gives him a sad look. "You need some rest, I should go." He hesitates for a moment. "I- I'll come back tomorrow?" 

"Okay." 

The guy lets out a sigh and leaves, quietly closing the door behind him. 

 

He's a lot more energetic the next day when he shows up again, like now that the initial shock is gone he just wants to get things done. 

He's back in stolen nurse's clothes, but, this time, he shows up when a real one is bringing Arthur his breakfast. 

There's a moment of recognition in her eyes. Confusion next. She settles in bewilderment. 

"You've been a pain these days. We told you to wait for visiting hours. About a thousand times." 

"Vivian, Vivian." He flashes her a beautiful smirk, and Arthur feels something weird twisting in his stomach. "I have no idea what you're talking about." 

"How did you _even get_ those clothes?" 

He press a finger to his lips, makes a little 'shhh' noise. "I won't tell if you don't." 

She considers him for a moment and sighs. "If anyone finds you here I'm not helping you." 

"Absolutely Vivian, you're an angel, have I said how gorgeous you look on this fine morning?" 

She just shakes her head, but she's smiling.  

"Don't cause any trouble, Eames." 

"Where would be the fun in that?" He says, and she laughs before leaving them alone. 

Eames. Sounds good. And at least he has a name now. Though he figures if the guy is willing to pose as a nurse he could easily lie about his identity. Arthur decides to check. 

"Is that your name? Eames?" 

"Hum?" The guy looks at him. "Oh, yeah. Surname? It's what you call me anyway." He helps Arthur adjust the bed so he can eat comfortably. 

Arthur won't ask about the nurse. He won't. He _won't._  

"Did you know her from before? The nurse?" Very nice Arthur. 

"Vivian? Yeah, we've met a couple times before. I end up in hospitals in London a lot." 

"Oh." 

"Why?" Eames asks, looking curiously at him. 

"Nothing. I thought you might be- close." Arthur says, wincing at how awkward he sounds. 

"Well, Vivian _is_ gorgeous. And she's really fun, when she wants to be. Pretty easy going, too." 

Arthur stabs his egg with a little more strength than necessary. Eames seems amused, for some reason. 

"But, unfortunately for her, I'm seeing someone." 

"Oh. Okay." Arthur doesn't know why he's even disappointed. Eames is probably straight. Besides, he _knew Eames_ from before. Because apparently he lost _seven years of memory_ , it's not like he could just hit on him anyway. He would hit on him, and then he would remember the kind of relationship they _actually_ had and awkward wouldn't even begin to describe it. And they were close, clearly, if the amount of time Eames is willing to spend helping him is any indication. He just needs to remember and they'll go back to being the good friends they are. 

Eames is smiling softly at him. "Eat all that. You need your nutrients." 

Arthur huffs, but does as he's told. 

 

Eames shows him pictures on his phone. Arthur thinks Eames' holding back, trying not to startle him with anything unexpected, but he does get some interesting shots. There's him, laughing with people in a couch. They are obviously his friends, and he doesn't even know _their faces_ , and the whole thing pisses him off. He asks Eames to skip to the next. This time he's in a café in Paris, looking away from the camera, caught in a moment. He seems happy. For a second he thinks that one is bringing back something, a feeling- but it's gone before he catches it. In the next he's in front of a gorgeous house Eames says is his. At a first glance, it doesn't seem like the kind of thing he would go for, but he can see himself living there. He says so out loud and Eames drops the phone. 

"What..?" 

"You have- you've said the exact-" He sighs. "No, nevermind. You remember your family, right? I have some pictures of them." He picks up the phone and scrolls a bit. He shows one with Arthur in what appears to be his sister's birthday. Arthur feels it like a punch, sudden, and all at once. His sister is smiling, and gorgeous, and a lot older than she should be. The candles on the cake say 30, which was in another five years? No, actually, it was two years ago. God, she's beautiful, and obviously _her_ , but also nothing like he remembers her at all. It's real, this is all too real, and what if he _never remembers at all_. There's just so much he missed, so much that would never come back and he would never really understand- 

Eames puts a hand on his shoulder, comforting and familiar in the same way that it's not and Arthur feels grounded, at least a little. 

"It'll be okay, darling, just breathe. I talked to your family yesterday, they all want to help you, you know. You can take all the time you need. Your sister won't care if you don't remember her birthday party, she wants to see you _well_ , Arthur." 

He lets Eames hug him, because that's clearly what he want to do, and Arthur does feel better. 

"Show me another one." 

"Arthur, we can stop, we don't have to do this today, or at all if you want." 

"No, I'm okay." 

Eames sighs, and pulls up a picture on the phone again.  

"Hey, that's Dom!"  

Beside Dom there's also Arthur, and two playful kids. They're laughing, sitting on the floor, and the girl is putting a flower crown on Arthur's head. He feels himself smiling.  

"You remember _Dom_?" Eames can't quite mask the offence in his voice. Arthur laughs.  

"I met him through work a while ago. Those are his kids, right?" 

"Yeah, James and Phillipa." 

Arthur looks them over one more time. James and Phillipa. He can see that. "They must be very proud."  

"...they?"  

"He and Mal. I remember her pregnant. The older kid must be around seven, then, right?" He notices Eames staring at him. "What..? Did they break up? Are the kids not hers?" But before Eames replies Arthur just knows, with a blinding certainty, what he's going to say.  

" _No_."  

"I'm sorry Arthur, I really am. She passed a-"  

He holds an arm up. "Don't." 

He doesn't remember anything else that day. 

  

Arthur is hungry. If he never has to eat another hospital meal again it won't be too soon. When he thinks about it, Eames is exactly the kind of person who could sneak in a hamburger for him, he's just not sure how to ask. It's not like he has a lot in terms of leverage. No harm in trying, he guesses. 

"So, I have no idea if I have money." He starts, out of the blue one day. 

"Hm..?" Eames looks up at him. 

"I don't know if I'm broke and this is actually an empty promise but I swear I'll _pay_ you-" 

"Whatever it is darling, I guarantee you don't have to pay me." 

"if you- ...uh." Arthur stops, thrown off. "You have no idea what I'm gonna ask you." 

"And yet I know I'll do it for free."  He flashes Arthur a smirk that conjures up all sorts of mental images, jesus. "But I probably have _some_ idea. You want me to bring you something that isn't hospital food, right? I hate it too, I'd be going crazy by now." He adds, in clear sympathy to Arthur's situation. 

"Actually, I want a blowjob." Arthur says, just for the hell of it, just to see what Eames does. And fuck, he's expecting the straight guy thing, a laugh and a pat in the back, not, not this, Eames' surprise, the slow path his eyes track across Arthur's body, the mirth there when he looks up again. 

"Is that so?" 

Fuck. _Fuck_ , Eames is not straight. Probably not straight? No, definitely not, he's joking, but still, straight people don't really joke like that. 

 _He's seeing someone, Arthur_. 

Except- he didn't say it wasn't- maybe he's just joking but. Maybe he meant...? Jesus, stop that, what if he didn't. What if he did. 

"Well, you're injured and in a hospital, we'll need a raincheck on that. Is there anything else I can do for you?" 

"A hamburger would be nice. McDonald's." 

"That's terrible for your health, dear." 

"You said you wanted to help and yet you refuse everything I ask." Arthur slowly shakes his head, universal for 'shame on you'. Eames smiles. 

"Hey, that wasn't a refusal, it was a raincheck-" 

"Get me the hamburger and all is forgiven." 

Eames narrows his eyes at him. "Just because I'm complying doesn't mean I don't know what you're doing." 

But he does come back with a Big Mac. Arthur counts it as a win. 

 

Eames buys him a phone. Apparently the future means password protected, and Arthur doesn't remember his. But Eames just brushes it off, gives him a new one, and programs some numbers for him. Dom calls, to check up on him, and that helps. His family calls. Talking to them feels good, feels obviously and undeniably right, in a way that nothing does since he woke up. They're sure this will be temporary, maybe he just needs more time, but they'll be here if he needs and would he like them to visit him? Or better yet, if he's feeling okay over the next few days, how about coming over? It will be familiar for him, it could help. Eames snorts loudly at that, from where he's coming back to Arthur's room with two cups of coffee. Arthur glares, Eames gives him his cup, mimics zipping his mouth shut, and leaves again. 

Arthur thinks there's some bad blood between Eames and his parents. They ask if Eames' there and how he's doing, but they're distant, "ah, that's nice honey", and generally seem as happy to ignore Eames as Eames seems happy to ignore them. 

He asks Amanda, his sister, about this, and she laughs. "They hate him. They think he's a bad influence and that he's involved with something illegal. They probably think your accident was his fault too, now that you mentioned it. _He_ hates _them_ , because they hate him, and he's a firm believer in reciprocity." Yeah, Arthur doesn't doubt it. "You know, they'll fight sometimes, but everyone just wants to help. Don't worry about this right now." 

So Arthur doesn't. 

He still doesn't have his memory back a few days later when he's discharged, and Eames drives him to the place he says is his home these days. 

The house has been reorganized recently.

He thinks some pictures may have been taken out, part of his closet cleared. Probably for his own protection, he figures. To make sure he doesn't get too surprised and freaks out. 

It still takes him five full minutes to realize that he doesn't live alone. 

And, well, if he's married, or something like that, wouldn't his significant other have been waiting for him when he woke up? Unless they couldn't, for any reason, and by the time they could Eames already told them he doesn't remember the last seven years, and they wanted to give him space. Yeah. Makes sense. Except for the part where it's complete bullshit, and he _knows_ who he lives with, knows what that means, but he's not going to think about that either. 

"Well, I'll let you settle in today. I know you want the space. Arthur, if you need anything, anything at all, please call me, okay." 

"And where are you going?" 

"Uh... my house?" Arthur smiles at that, and yeah, he knows, and Eames knows that he knows, and now he knows that Eames knows that he knows? Anyway, he considers it, for the first time, the way he wasn't letting himself... hope? Before. What it must have been like, waking up next to this guy. He's stupid hot, the right level of sarcastic. Fun to be around, from what Arthur can tell. 

He's also someone Arthur doesn't know, and he can pretend that he does. 

"Okay. See you later." 

 

Time passes. Arthur thinks he should be doing something, should be getting back to work, but every time he asks Eames about that Eames dodges the subject. 

Someone called Ariadne comes to visit him. He starts to explain about his memory but she says she knows, obviously, and that she doesn't mind introducing herself again. He thinks he saw her on one of the pictures Eames showed him, but Arthur still calls him, just to check. Eames confirms that yes, that's someone he knows, no, not a dangerous murdering thief trying to take advantage of his condition. Arthur rolls his eyes at Eames, remembers he's on the phone and says, "I'm rolling my eyes at you," and lets Ariadne in. 

Ari spends a week with him. She's a delight, and he can instantly see why he likes her. She wants him to take her sightseeing, and he knows London can't be anything new for her, if he lives here it's obviously not new for him either, but she says "Can you _remember_ going sightseeing through London?" And, well, no? So that's an argument he loses even as it starts. 

They take Eames with them, most of the time, and together they make their way through the main museums and tourist hotspots. It's pretty, but it doesn't ring any bells, and he's upset, if that's what they're trying to do it's just not going to work- 

"Arthur, relax." Ariadne says, looking at him. "Just try to have fun." 

Yeah.

Okay.

Arthur can do that. 

Eames takes the fact that he knows that Arthur knows? Or something? As his cue to start flirting _all the time_. Arthur will admire a Monet's and say "Beautiful," and Eames will look right at him before saying, "Yeah, I think so," with a grin. It's stupid. It's so _clich_ _é_. Arthur feels the fluttering of a crush and tells it to cool the fuck down. 

Ari takes lots of pictures everywhere, says that she really should visit more often, Paris is like, an hour away. She has no excuse. But right now she's getting her master's and she really can't afford to stay longer. When they drop her off at the airport at the last day she gives Arthur a really tight hug, says she loves him, and that it will be _okay_. That, for some reason, makes him emotional, missing to death a friendship he can't remember ever having. 

Eames drives him home after, ready to say goodbye, and Arthur is just tired. 

"That's ridiculous Eames, sleep on the couch. Sleep in the guest bedroom she was in, I don't care. Save on whatever expensive hotel you were in." 

He doesn't wait for a reply when he gets out of the car. A few moments later Eames follows. 

 

Eames cooks dinner, completely at home, obviously, and that's the first real attention Arthur's kitchen gets in a long time. He also turns on piano acoustics on the background and opens a wine, because he's obviously still trying to seduce Arthur, but Arthur doesn't think he minds right now. 

Eames doesn’t make a move though, doesn’t try to move into his space or do anything that could make Arthur uncomfortable at all, just smiles at him a lot and happily takes the guest bedroom. 

Arthur understands, right now, but in time, he thinks he could get used to this. 

 

"...can I also save on the storage room I rented?" 

Jesus. "I thought you just hid some clothes from the closet." 

"Yeah, not really." 

"Sure, bring your stuff." 

 

"...there's just no way I'm living in the same house as this monstrosity. Is that supposed to be a—it's a duck." 

"It's modern art." 

Arthur tries to see. Tilts his head. Squints his eyes. 

"Yeah, it really isn't." 

"You said that the first time too." 

 

They soon have a rhythm going, a _routine_. The duck stays. As do all the other little things that come with Eames. It _should_ be weird, but soon Arthur finds himself thinking that sharing his daily space and his life with Eames is the easiest thing he's ever done. 

In the end, what makes him snap out of the happy bubble is nothing big. 

No, it’s actually quite trivial, considering how _long_ he had been holding up. Eames has fucked off to do whatever Eames _does_ when he’s not there, walking on eggshells around Arthur, and Arthur is tired, and hungry, and decides to venture into the kitchen. 

He's chopping an onion, nothing complicated, when he accidentally cuts his finger. It’s not that deep, but with the sting of the onion it hurts like hell, and Arthur cleans the wound with water and goes in search of a first-aid kit. 

It’s around then that he realizes he has _no idea_ where a first-aid kit is, because he doesn’t fucking know this place; because it’s like being awkward and unsure while visiting a friend's house, except it's _all the fucking time_ and he’s _really_ tired. 

Arthur thinks he remembers seeing a drugstore somewhere around? It wasn't that far, he figures he can walk and at least get antiseptic and some band-aids. He grabs his wallet and keys and leaves in his mighty search. 

Yeah. Problem being, all the streets _look exactly the same_. It's London, it’s just two-story houses, in shades of brown with white windows, fucking trees on the sidewalk and the old street lamps. It takes Arthur almost forty minutes to figure out how to get to a main avenue, and then he has no clue how to come _back_ because he doesn't know this city and he shouldn't _be_ here.  

It's starting to get dark now and on the 17th street he walks on that could be the one of his house? Or maybe not? Who the fuck knows, certainly not him? A punk with a _kitchen_ knife and a _hoodie_ stops him. He can't be more than 16. Arthur holds back the biggest sigh of his life and puts up his hands. The punk demands his wallet and his phone, and Arthur gives him his wallet but says he doesn't _have_ a phone on him, but the guy doesn't believe him. He says he wants the phone, and makes some sort of abrupt movement with his out stretched arm, and that's when Arthur's instinct kicks in. 

He twists the teen's wrist, elbows his nose, knees his groin. The teen lets out some sort of pitiful groan and Arthur uses his momentum to push him face first against a street lamp and twist his arm behind his back until he cries out in pain and drops the knife. Arthur presses hard against his arm and the kid drops his wallet too. Arthur presses even harder for a moment, just to send a point, and lets him go. He scrambles away from Arthur, terrified, and flees. 

That's when Arthur exhales sharply and looks down. _What the fuck?_  

 

He has no idea how long he's been gone when he finds the house again, but Eames zeroes in on him as soon as he stumbles through the door. 

"Arthur, where the _fuck_ have you been? You disappeared, I've been trying to call y-" 

Arthur cuts him off. "Do I have close combat training?" 

"...what?" 

And he just doesn't get it. "Eames, what do I work with?" 

"I don't think this is the best time-" 

"Screw that." Arthur is shaking, he doesn't recognize himself, he doesn't know what any of this is supposed to _mean_. 

"Arthur, what brought this on?" 

"Some punk tried to rob me with a kitchen knife, I," he doesn't know how to finish the thought.  

"Oh god, Arthur, what did you do to him?" Eames' face morphs in amusement, like this is just hilarious, and not making Arthur _doubt his reality_. 

Arthur doesn't remember ever getting close combat training, and he doesn't remember this house, or the streets, or the lovely lady that spent a week trying to help him, or the man in front of him. 

"I think I'm going to LA for a while." 

 

He does. His parents welcome him with open arms and he feels better, being somewhere he knows. In the first week it's all still very polite and stilled, like they don't know how far they can push, but by the second they start telling him stories of all the things he doesn't remember, and his sister and extended family come to visit to tell him how much they all missed him, and by the third he's having a lot of fun, and feeling more like himself every day. 

Dom calls often, and eventually Arthur spends some days with him too. The kids are delighted, and together they bake cookies, read stories, and build amazing things out of Lego toys.  

One time he's going to get water in the kitchen when he hears James ask Dom why Uncle Arthur didn't visit with Uncle Eames this time. Dom says he doesn't know if Uncle Arthur will ever visit with Uncle Eames anymore, but he's sure they both love them. Arthur feels his heart twisting sharply, feels the lump in his throat, and reminds himself that he chose this. He did. 

He sends text updates to Eames on how he's doing, but he knows they're getting more sporadic and knows this is for the best. The more comfortable he gets with his life here, and the more he chooses this place and these people, the more he's saying goodbye to the person he was with Eames. Goodbye to the life they had together, and maybe that's just how things will be. He should be the grown up and move on. 

There's only so much idleness a man can take, and eventually he starts to itch for a job, for something to do. He brushes up his cv, and even with the years inactive it's still not impossible to find a company interested, especially for someone qualified and willing to work cheap. And well, he decides, money doesn't matter that much to him anyway. (The first time Arthur had a look at his bank account he froze. He thinks about Eames' secrecy on the matter, and decides yeah, whatever he was doing, he was well off.) And at least now he can afford to rent a furnished apartment and buy some suits for his new job. 

And then he's signing the contract on a loft and something is breaking in him, like that was the final rock he could put on a life he wishes he could remember. But he can't, and it doesn't exist anymore.   

 

His parents want a dinner to celebrate his new home, and the wonderful things happening right now. At one point they say what he knows they had been thinking all along. 

"In a certain way, I think this was for the best, you know Arthur? I don't wanna be mean to anyone, but that life you had in England? Well, if it was that good you wouldn't have forgotten it, would you." 

"There was a head injury involved, mom. I didn't just wake up one day and came back." 

"I know, I'm just saying, that guy of yours, he always looked like a thug-" 

"Don't talk about him like that." 

She gives him a pitying look. "Alright. But now you get a nice job, and meet new people, and get to be close to your family. Maybe there was a reason things worked out this way, and you'll be happier here." 

He smiles and pretends his heart isn't crumbling in his chest. 

 

 

Message history, contact: Eames. 

Loading older messages... 

 

04/17 

 _From: Eames; 12:33 PM_  

 

 _...still holding up there?_  

 

 _From: Arthur; 01:02 PM_  

 

 _yeah._  

 

 _From: Arthur; 1:03 PM_  

 

 _@_ _dom's_ _with_ _james_ _and_ _phillipa_  

 

 _From: Arthur; 1:11 PM_  

 

 _we're building a princess castle out of_ _legos_  

 

 _From: Eames; 1:20 PM_  

 

 _I demand pictures._  

 

 _From: Arthur; 2:07 PM_  

 

 _[picture attached]_  

 

 _From: Eames; 2:08 PM_  

 

 _That's the best princess castle built out of_ _legos_ _I've ever seen._  

 

 _From: Arthur; 6:05 PM_  

 

 _asshole_  

 

04/21 

 _From: Eames; 1:02 AM_  

 

 _I'm buying a bigger cabinet for the living room._  

 

 _From: Arthur; 1:03 AM_  

 

 _ok?_  

 

 _From: Eames; 1:27 AM_  

 

 _Glad you support it._  

 

 _From: Eames; 1:28 AM_  

 

 _I think I'll try to build it. How hard can it be?_  

 

 _From: Arthur; 1:32 AM_  

 

 _that sounds like a terrible idea_  

 

 _From: Eames; 7:16 AM_  

 

 _It was._  

 

04/23 

 _From: Eames; 7:23 PM_  

 

 _Miss you._  

 

 _From: Arthur; 7:30 PM_  

 

 _isn't it 3am in_ _london_ _?_  

 

 _From: Arthur; 7:45 PM_  

 

 _eames_ _?_  

 

04/24 

 _From: Arthur; 10:17 AM_  

 

 _I got a job, financial accountant for a local company_  

 

04/26 

 _From: Arthur; 12:07 PM_  

 

 _I'm renting an apt here_  

 

04/29 

 _From: Arthur;_ _1_ _:37 AM_  

 

 _i miss you too_  

 

When Arthur arrives after his first day of work, Eames is watching TV in his apartment. That's not the weirdest thing that has ever happened to Arthur, broadly speaking, but it may still make the top ten. 

"Hello darling, how was work?" 

"How did you get in?" He pauses. "...how did you even know my address?" 

Eames waves it off. "I was feeling like a very nice house husband, so there's dinner in the kitchen for you. Granted, I had to do some shopping first. Well, a lot of shopping, I'm honestly concerned for your health, darling, but I think we can focus on one thing at a time." 

"You were feeling like a nice house husband by... breaking into my apartment?" 

"You did invite me." 

"I'm pretty sure I didn't." He finally gets out of the doorway and closes the door. Something in the kitchen does smell really nice. He checks it out. There's risotto, and a gorgeous salad, and something finishing in the oven that makes Arthur salivate. 

"Perhaps not invite me. You insinuated? It's subtext, but it's there." 

Arthur doesn't have it in him to fight that. 

"Okay. Let's have dinner then." 

Dinner is great. Arthur takes a shower and comes back to find Eames sprawled out on his couch and that's great too, he won't lie. Maybe they can just have this, have this moment without the fight that is lurking under the surface. Without talking about any of the ways they can hurt each other right now. 

"So, you're really going to do this?" Eames asks, without looking up. 

So much for that plan. Arthur sighs. 

"Yeah." 

"Just rent an apartment and start from zero." 

"Yes, Eames." 

"Leave everything else behind." 

Arthur is getting angry now. 

"There's nothing to stop me." 

Eames looks lost. "Arthur-" 

"I tried your way Eames, and I was in a house I don't know, with a man I don't remember meeting, without a job because you won't even bother telling me what I did—A girl spent a week with me, sightseeing and worrying and looking for a friend that doesn't exist because I don't remember ever even meeting her. I'm hurting everyone, Eames, how can you say that's the best option?" 

"Arthur, you had a life in London, with people you cared about-" 

"You keep talking about that, as if that's the end goal, but who's to say I won't be happier here, on a job that is safe, in a place I know. Isn't that the point? Making me happy?" 

" _I_ made you happy." 

"No, you made happy someone that doesn’t exist anymore." 

Eames is dumbstruck for a solid second, and then gives him a  triumphant grin. He raises from the couch and approaches Arthur, crowding him against a wall. "You're falling in love with me." He says it like someone would say check mate. Arthur is frozen, staring at him. "You think I can't tell? That I don't notice you blushing and lowering your eyelashes?" 

"Eames-" He tries to get himself together but Eames cuts him off. 

"I can fucking tell, Arthur, because I've seen it all before. If you can forget everything that defined your life in the last few years, forget everything that was important, forget ever _knowing my name_ , and still see yourself falling in love with me, all over again, do you really think that person doesn't exist anymore?" 

He's staring into Arthur's soul, but it's not enough, Arthur doesn't know what to say, what to think- 

"Tell me you don't know what I'm talking about, tell me you don't want this-" And then he's kissing Arthur, and Arthur doesn't think at all. 

It's intense, Eames pouring out all the anger, and frustration, and want, God, so much want into it, pushing Arthur backwards until he hits the wall and pulling hard at his hair. Arthur jerks in his grasp, and tries to give as good as he gets, but he keeps getting distracted, keeps wanting more- 

Eames is kissing him with everything he has, and Arthur is gasping, trying to get him impossibly closer until, _yeah_ , there a thigh pushing between his and he has something to ground him, something to grind against. He does, pressing hard against him and loving the way Eames loses coordination and breathes out his name. " _Arthur_." 

Eames' hands come to rest against the wall, on both sides of Arthur's head, and Eames licks lips and rests his forehead against Arthur's, content to just feel him for a moment.  

"God, I missed you Arthur. Missed this." 

Arthur feels the words like being drenched in cold water, feels like he's being kicked awake from a nice dream. 

Miss this. 

Yeah, that's the problem, isn't it? 

He pushes Eames away.  

"You're welcome to the couch. I'm going to bed." 

"Arthur-" 

"Good night, Mr. Eames." 

 

Eames isn't there the next morning. Arthur could have seen that coming. He tells himself firmly that it doesn't hurt. 

 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


"That doesn't seem comfortable." 

Arthur startles awake. He's confused for a moment, but oh, yeah, he must have fallen asleep waiting by the front door. It's been a long time. He had texted Eames a couple days ago, saying he wanted to talk, and Eames helpfully agreed and sent an address. 

In Kenya. 

Yeah, still pissed off then. 

That wasn't going to stop Arthur. So he texted back 'omw' and got himself a plane ticket to Mombasa. (Well. In reality he got himself a ticket to Frankfurt and a connection to Istanbul, a connection from there to Nairobi and a connection from _there_ to Mombasa. Apparently it's not the most sought after touristic spot. If Arthur never sees an airport again it will be too soon.) 

"Eames." Arthur sits up. His back is killing him, but god, he's so thankful that he doesn't even care. "You're here." He doesn't quite mask the wonder in his voice. 

"...I did give you this address, didn’t I?” 

Yeah, about that. 

At some point between flights one and two Arthur considered the possibility of Eames leaving the country before he could get there, just as a long distance 'fuck you' that Arthur would probably deserve. He brushed it off, and between flights three and four he was absolutely convinced Eames was never in Kenya to begin with, it was all a simple joke that Arthur should have understood. But Arthur did say he was going, right? Eames would have told him, wouldn't he?- 

Too late now. 

On the cab from the airport he had decided Eames was there, but what exactly was Arthur expecting? It's been months. Eames could have moved on. Arthur wouldn't even blame him, to be honest. 

The address turns out to be a small, two-story house. 

No one answers. 

So far, Arthur is a little disappointed, but that's still infinitely better than being met with an old Kenyan person that doesn't speak English and doesn't know anything about an 'Eames'. Arthur sits down and decides to wait. Which is how Eames finds him... twenty minutes later? Arthur frowns at his watch. Okay, so, maybe it hasn't been all that long and he's exaggerating. 

He's just really, really, tired.  

"Would you like to come in?" 

"Yeah." 

Eames has some shopping bags with him and he starts putting things away at the kitchen. "There's a room ready for you, if you want to get some sleep first. You must've had a long flight." 

"...eames-" 

"It's okay Arthur. I'll still be here when you wake up." 

 

Sleeping helps. Arthur decides to brush his teeth too, wash his face, and by then he's marginally more human. He paddles barefoot into the kitchen area and finds Eames sitting at the table, reading a book. The view makes him stop. He wants so much it hurts. 

"I don't remember you." Arthur blurts out. 

Eames looks up. Arthur keeps going before he loses his courage. 

"I don't remember you and I may never remember you but I still can't stop thinking about you and I don't know what I'm supposed to do." Eames blinks a couple times and raises an eyebrow. "Nothing makes sense!" He's getting worked up but he doesn't even care, he's just so confused and Eames can't even begin to understand. "Nothing makes any fucking sense and I'm so fucking _tired_. My job is the only thing I remember doing, it's the only thing I _know_ how to do, and two months later I was _bored_. Fuck, no one's job is endlessly entertaining, I get it, but I was suffocated. Like there was some _amazing universe_ out there and I was stuck with the old men in their business suits talking about golf and the stock market." 

"You still love a business suit." Arthur glares. 

"It's professional. I look good in them." Eames just smiles. "I didn't need the two months to know I couldn't do it. It's so, so boring Eames, so meaningless, and I don't know how to do anything else but I know _I was_ doing something else and you won’t even tell me _what_. I'm supposed to beg for information about my own life and play the worst game of connecting the dots ever." 

Eames just looks for a moment. "What do you want, Arthur?" He asks like he's tired too, like this whole thing is draining him and he doesn't know how else to help. 

"Tell me why you won't let me back on my current job." 

"It's illegal." 

Arthur blinks. Eames sighs and pulls out a chair in the kitchen table. "Why don't you sit down? Do you want some tea? I want some tea." He fills the kettle and switches it on. Arthur numbly sits down. So much for trying to prove his family wrong. 

"I'm, like, a drug dealer or something?" 

Eames laughs. 

"Oh, darling." He leans against the counter. "We work with corporate espionage. Something like that. We steal information from companies and sell it to the competition." 

Arthur process this. It would explain the money. If Eames works with him it would explain his money, and the vacation house in Mombasa, of all places. Maybe he just needs to get away sometimes. It makes sense. 

"Are we any good?" 

Eames grins. 

"We're very good. I'd say you're the best in the market for what you do, but what you do is insanely dangerous. I can't let you in when you don't remember how any of that is supposed to work." 

A few moments pass in silence. The kettle boils, eventually. 

Eames takes out some tea bags from a box and actually finishes preparing the cups before he thinks to ask Arthur. "Sorry, love, it was habit. What kind of tea of would you like?" 

"Uh, black." 

"I have normal black, and black with red fruits. Witch one?" 

"Red fruits." 

Eames smiles and puts the cup he had already prepared in front of Arthur. 

Arthur thinks about it, all the little things about him that this guy knows, all the things Arthur himself hasn't even noticed yet. He takes a deep breath. 

"Kiss me.” Arthur says, before he loses his courage. 

He does. It's nothing like their last kiss, angry and passionate. This one is slow, and sensuous, more appreciating each other like they have all the time in the world and they have zero intention to stop. Arthur doesn't remember this, but he thinks he could get used to it all over again. 

 

In the morning, Arthur is still in Eames bed and watches Eames slowly waking up, watches the creases on his face from the pillow case and the little aborted motions he makes in his sleep, like after all this months he's still reaching for someone that should to be lying next to him. When he does opens his eyes he looks at Arthur and gives him a small smile, cautiously happy. 

It _breaks_ something in Arthur, and his mouth is getting away from him before he let's himself think about it. 

"I'm so in love with you Eames, God, you don't even get it." 

Eames smile dies in his lips, his face closing off all at once. 

"He- you've never said that. I mean, before." 

"Eames-" 

"I know you're not, you're not doing this on purpose Arthur, I _get it_ , but it still feels like a mockery somehow. Like someone's rubbing in everything I lost and I'm absolutely mad about you but there's just so much I have to leave behind, so much I need to try and get over and I have no idea how to do that." His voice breaks and he clears his throat, takes a deep breath. "I don't know how to do that." 

Arthur sees him falling apart and doesn’t even know what to say, how to begin to fix this. Eames raises his hand, caresses Arthur's cheek, and sighs. 

"It's not your fault, love, you know that, right? You're not doing anything wrong." Arthur snorts at that. 

"'It's not you, it's me'? Really, Eames?" 

Eames gives him a beautiful smile. 

"I'll have you know I'm really smooth. I'm practically a God of the English language, you just don't appreciate talent." 

"I believe that." 

Eames looks softly at him and Arthur can see the moment Eames realizes he can do this. That he can build a life together with him again, from zero, and it'll be okay. He's been holding onto the hope that Arthur would have to remember him eventually, that they'll fix this and go back to normal but Arthur can see him letting that go. Accepting that Arthur may never remember, and that it will still hurt sometimes, but they'll make it work. 

He probably couldn't even imagine himself trying to do this with anyone else and he'll wait for Arthur, as many times as it takes, as long as Arthur keeps coming back to him. And even if nothing else makes sense Arthur will still came back to him. At the end of the day, they'll be okay. 

And Eames realizes this _now_ because he's a fucking idiot. 

"I can do this, you know. We can make this work." 

"Eames, you're a moron. We can, but- you didn't get what I said earlier. You- You don't have a magical healing dick." 

Eames eyebrows are almost at his hairline. 

"I, what?" 

"You _don't_ , you didn't just heal me, but I couldn't sleep yesterday and I just knew what would help? Like, I knew where it would be, even if I didn't know what 'it' was?" 

"...what?" 

"Eames, catch up. It was a feeling, more instinct than logic. So I knew it would be under the bed and when it wasn't I knew you may have hidden it to protect me or whatever but I knew where you would hide it." 

Understanding dawns on him. 

"The PASSIV." 

"Yeah. It was on a cabinet on the living room and I just knew what I had to do, what chemicals to mix, how to set the timer-" 

"Did you plug yourself in?? Are you _insane_? You lost your memories of dream sharing Arthur, you could have _overdosed_. You could have lost yourself in limbo, I don't even know if I could bring you back-" 

"I'm okay Eames, breathe. It was automatic, I didn't have to think about anything I was doing. Muscle memory and all that." 

"That's not- that's not even what that means, Arthur. Muscle memory is when an artist with Alzheimer's can still paint, it's not when you're doing something that could _kill_ you-" 

"Eames." Eames glares, but he shuts up. "When I was under I started with small things, see if I hit any triggers. I pictured the London house, and you, and I was talking to you, trying to imagine what you would reply when I realised I wasn't imagining at all because you had said it all before, it was a _memory_. Funny thing about a PASSIV, it creates a _conscious dream_. It's you, controlling something going on in your subconscious. So I kept trying different ideas, and I kept getting flashes here and there." 

Arthur thinks he can feel Eames' heart racing erratically where they're close, expressions twisting his face too fast for Arthur to catalog. 

Eames licks his lips. "You remembered me? Remembered something about me?" 

"Yeah. Some little things. You cooking in the kitchen, dancing along to Spice Girls. You kicking my chair just to be a dick, grinning at me. You watching a terrible movie dubbed in Korean and shouting at the characters." 

Eames stares at him. 

" _Arthur_." He says it in a hush, like it's the most beautiful thing he knows and he can't believe this yet. 

"You don't even speak Korean, Eames. You were just shouting when you thought you hadn't shouted in a while, telling me crazy ideas about the plot." 

Eames chokes back a laugh and he's about to cry, they both are, the connection between them raw and vulnerable. 

"It was a rom-com." Arthur adds. "You thought it had something to do with a secret dragon." 

"It had. You're gonna have to trust me on this one." He grins, running his hand through Arthur's hair and settling on the back of his neck. "Is that all?" He asks, and he's okay with this. He's okay with whatever Arthur gives him, he just wants to know. 

"It was, for a while. But I had an urge to check my back pocket and feel the dice there. I looked at it and for a second it was just a dice, and then I was in a casino in LA making a bet with the hot stranger at the bar. He smiles and says ' _on three, darling, one, two,_ ' and before the night is over I know my life will never be the same again." 

Eames chokes on something between a sob and a laugh and he's kissing Arthur like he's dying, like he thought he may never do it again. 

" _Fuck_ , I missed you." 

And yeah, Arthur's crying, they're both a mess, but there's something warm and soothing settling in his chest and he won't let this get away from him again. He won't. 

"I missed you too." 

"Wait, did you- oh my god, you said you love me." 

"You seriously didn't try the thing we use to access people's minds on me? Like, you didn't think, maybe this could help Arthur, since we literally need to access something. In his mind." Arthur says, in a smooth and charming attempt to change the subject. 

"That was a terrible attempt to change the subject." Eames says, because he's a liar who lies.  

"It wasn't." Arthur huffs. "And I did. Say that. I don't say it more often because it's kind of terrifying Eames, shit, like I could lose it the minute I opened my mouth and went too far. But then I did lose it, for some months anyway, and it wasn't even your fault and I thought now that I remember it would be fair to let you know. That I love you, that is." 

Eames smiles at him. 

"Thought it would be dangerous. The PASSIV thing. You could get lost in your mind, I didn't wanna risk it." 

"Well, that's stupid." 

Eames laughs. 

"Don't you think it's at least _a little_ suspicious you remember me the day after we have sex again?" 

"You don't have a magical healing dick, Eames." 

"Hey, I'm just saying. Suspicious." 

Arthur throws his pillow at him. 

Eames is not even surprised. 

"And I love you too, darling." 

"Well, obviously." 

"Obviously." 

"It's not like I was worried." 

"'Course not." 

"I mean, I remembered it." 

Eames just hums. 

"And even before I did I'm pretty sure I just knew, you know?" 

"Makes sense." And Eames is settling his weight on Arthur, holding his hands to the bed, kissing him slow and deliberate this time and Arthur groans and forgets what they were talking about, anyway. 

 

("You could at least brush your teeth." 

"Shh. Don't ruin our moment baby." Arthur glares, but he does shut up.)

**Author's Note:**

> If you came here for spoilers: nope. the character from the vow doesn't ever get her memories back, arthur does, i couldn't leave it before that. but it's pretty last minute, so *shrugs* Give it a chance anyway?
> 
> talk to me on [tumblr](https://dreaminghigher.tumblr.com)!


End file.
